WAITER (_who is standing in the door of the lounge_). Si, Signore. Will the lady and gentleman take it here, or in the gardens, perhaps? DOLPHIN. A good suggestion. Why shouldn't the lady and gentleman take it in the garden? AMY. Why not? DOLPHIN. By the fountain, then, Waiter. We can talk about ourselves there to the tune of falling waters. AMY. And you shall recite your poetry, Mr. Dolphin. I just love poetry. Do you know Mrs. Wilcox's _Poems of Passion_? (_They go out to the left. A nightingale utters two or three phrases of song and from far down the bells of the city jangle the three-quarters and die slowly away into the silence out of which they rose and came together._) (LUCREZIA GRATTAROL _has come out of the hotel just in time to overhear Miss Toomis's last remark, just in time to see her walk slowly away with a hand on_ SIDNEY DOLPHIN's _arm_. LUCREZIA _has a fine thoroughbred appearance, an aquiline nose, a finely curved sensual mouth, a superb white brow, a quivering nostril. She is the last of a family whose name is as illustrious in Venetian annals as that of Foscarini, Tiepolo, or Tron. She stamps a preposterously high-heeled foot and tosses her head._) LUCREZIA. Passion! Passion, indeed. An American! (_She starts to run after the retreating couple, when_ ALBERTO, _who has been sitting with his head between his hands, looks up and catches sight of the newcomer_.) ALBERTO. Lucrezia! LUCREZIA (_starts, for in the shade beneath the trees she had not seen him_). Oh! You gave me such a fright, Alberto. I'm in a hurry now. Later on, if you.... ALBERTO (_in a desperate voice that breaks into a sob_). Lucrezia! You must come and talk to me. You must. LUCREZIA. But I tell you I can't now, Alberto. Later on. ALBERTO (_the tears streaming down his cheeks_). Now, now, now! You must come now. I am lost if you don't. LUCREZIA (_looking indecisively first at_ ALBERTO _and then along the path down which_ AMY _and_ SIDNEY DOLPHIN _have disappeared_). But supposing I am lost if I do come? ALBERTO. But you couldn't be as much lost as I am. Ah, you don't know what it is to suffer. Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt weiss wass ich leide. Oh, Lucrezia.... (_He sobs unrestrainedly_.) LUCREZIA (_goes over to where_ ALBERTO _is sitting. She pats his shoulder and his bowed head of black curly hair_). There, there, my little Bertino. Tell me what it is. You mustn't cry. There, there. ALBERTO (_drying his eyes and rubbing his head, like a cat, avid of caresses, against her hand_). How can I thank you enough, Lucrezia? You are like a mother to me. LUCREZIA. I know. That's just what's so dangerous. ALBERTO (_lets his head fall upon her bosom_). I come to you for comfort, like a tired child, Lucrezia. LUCREZIA. Poor darling! (_She strokes his hair, twines its thick black tendrils round her fingers_, ALBERTO _is abjectly pathetic_.) ALBERTO (_with closed eyes and a seraphic smile_). Ah, the suavity, the beauty of this maternal instinct!